


Game Theory

by robocryptid



Series: Not That I'm Complaining [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blackwatch (Overwatch) - Freeform, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Hanzo Shimada, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Hanzo Shimada is a (Sexy) Little Shit, Jesse McCree is Too Horny to Function, Learning To Communicate, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Play, Rimming, Young Jesse McCree/Young Hanzo Shimada, assholes in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 11:08:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15290211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robocryptid/pseuds/robocryptid
Summary: An AU in which both Shimadas join Blackwatch, and Hanzo is definitely not in love. (Or: a Hanzo POV B-side to Not That I'm Complaining.)





	Game Theory

**Author's Note:**

> This is a B-side to [Not That I'm Complaining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13951206/chapters/32114004), and it absolutely assumes you have already read that one. I'm not sure how much sense certain parts of this will make without it, actually.
> 
> This is also more a series of connected, sequential drabbles than a fullblown story, because it started as just a drabble and -- as stories do -- got wildly out of my control. 
> 
> Porn-to-feelings ratio is roughly 30/70. What has this become?!
> 
> This also comes with [excellent fanart](http://youraveragejoke.tumblr.com/post/175892741806/hanzo-was-indeed-pouting-hiding-in-an-empty) courtesy of [YourAverageJoke](http://youraveragejoke.tumblr.com), with whom I shared a portion I found particularly strange/funny/sad all at once and they agreed.

Hanzo watched his brother sleep, passed out from another night of hedonism. Hanzo breathed, methodical, in and out as he’d been taught, until the weight of the fury inside him felt more like it was grounding him than like it might explode. If he were going to obey the order, it wouldn’t be like this. At the very least, Genji deserved to be alert, to know why and to know everyone who was to blame and to have the chance to defend himself. 

They wanted him to die, and they wanted Hanzo to do it. They  _expected_ it. They had not wanted him to hear the meeting they’d had before he entered, but they shouldn’t have trained him so well if they didn’t want him to use his skills. 

He didn’t have a plan, not exactly, but with the rage dulled he could at least think. Analyze. He could get Genji out, perhaps. They could leave. The family wouldn’t allow it though. The dragons were too precious to them; the shame at  _losing_ the dragons would be unbearable. They would follow them to the ends of the earth, and neither Genji nor Hanzo would be allowed to live. 

It was possible he could bargain with them, but it would reveal his hand, make them question his loyalties. They valued his dragons enough that a threat to his own life might make them rethink. But there was no use making threats when he had no intention to follow through. Besides, the most likely solution would be to banish Genji, then send someone after him where Hanzo could not protect him, without Hanzo’s knowledge. It was the kind of solution he had been raised to think of; those who had raised him would certainly think of it too.

There had been that meeting, though, the one he wasn’t meant to hear. He looked again at Genji, who was snoring lightly and drooling on his pillow, unaware of any of the night’s events. He would be safe for another night. There was no harm in leaving to investigate.  

 

* * *

 

He estimated it took nearly two hours to find them, at least keeping to the rooftops and the shadows as he was, but find them he did. They were holed up in a two-story warehouse. Whatever they were, they were professionals. Paramilitary, perhaps. Organized like Western military operations. 

The guards at the door could have passed for typical security guards to someone who wasn’t already looking for more. They chattered quietly to each other in choppy English; they shared a second language, but not a first. 

It was more difficult than it should have been to get around unnoticed, but he managed. Watching a group of them unload cases from a shipping container, he overheard more. 

“Save the ass-kissing for the assholes at Odub,” one of the women said. The name meant nothing to him, but it might prove useful. The group gave him nothing else of value. 

It was only a hunch that made him scale his way up to the roof, only an assumption about hierarchies, where their leadership might sit. He crept along the edge of the roof and he followed the smell of cigarette smoke. There was an open window just below, smoke wafting up and out into the night. Two voices carried out the window, too quiet for him to hear the words, but he peered over the edge. A hand flicked a cigarette out the window, and the voices both faded. The light from the window went out, but the window stayed open.

Hanzo held his breath and slipped down, quick and quiet as he could — though even he could not entirely silence the scrape of his clawed boots against the building — and he crept through the window. This was once an office, but they had shoved a cot into a corner, likely for its current occupant. The light from outside filtered in, but it was little help. Everything was black, otherwise unmarked, from the cot to the small tablet on the desk to the duffel bag in the corner. 

He might investigate the tablet if he could find nothing else, but he didn’t care to run the risk that the tech might signal its owner if tampered with. Beyond revealing the occupant’s brand of cigarettes — cheap — and displaying an unfortunate hat, the desk provided no helpful information. 

He dug cautiously through the duffel bag, but the clothing was similarly dark, unornamented. The underwear and the boots in the corner suggested the occupant was likely a man. Pant length confirmed he would be tall. Buried under the other clothing was one last shirt, black like the rest but with a single patch on the arm. It was a logo of some kind, a sword inside a skull inside a circle. It seemed familiar, but it was nothing he could place immediately. He tucked everything back carefully, as if it had never been touched.

Behind the duffel bag, under the cot, there were boxes of ammunition. They looked specially made, not quite like any bullets he had ever seen. The case beside them held several grenades. Flashbangs, he assumed, but their make was unfamiliar too. This kind of equipment was expensive. Exclusive. Maybe even experimental. 

The group had resources and training unlike any mercenaries he had ever encountered. His ability to infiltrate notwithstanding, they were formidable. Mercenaries were not this well equipped or organized, and it seemed unlike private security to set their sights on yakuza. The logo nagged at him too.

The elders had made the meeting private. They hadn’t wanted anyone to know yet that these people were here. They had argued over whether the knowledge would cause an unnecessary panic before they could strategize a response.

Hanzo’s hands grew cold with the realization of exactly what he had stumbled into. He was almost to the window when the door opened. 

“Stop,” barked a man’s voice behind him. Hanzo remembered seeing the bullets, but not the gun. It meant he would be armed. “Yosu,” he repeated.

Hanzo turned, slowly, kept his hands visible, and he said nothing at all. It was only partly deliberate; the rest was surprise. This man was almost laughably young. Tall, as Hanzo had expected, handsome, as he had not considered at all, and absolutely aiming a gun directly at him. The primary advantage Hanzo had was the man’s surprise, but that would dwindle quickly. “ _You speak Japanese?_ ”

“ _Some._ ” He pressed his lips together, clearly searching for words. “ _No,_ ” he said, which Hanzo felt confident to interpret as  _not enough_. “English?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Tell me what you’re doin’ here and why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.” The stranger tipped his chin up, shoulders back like he had something to prove.

Hanzo fought down a laugh, relief flooding through him. It would do no good to show that the threat had the opposite of its intended effect, but it was his experience that men who were especially interested in killing didn’t bother to announce as much. They certainly didn’t sound as if they were quoting from a bad action film. “I will tell it to your commander,” he said calmly.

“You’ll tell it to me,” he answered, in a voice that was almost believable this time. “I’m the one in charge here.” It was uncertain whether he meant the scenario or the whole operation, but Hanzo wasn’t in much position to argue. 

It didn’t entirely matter whether this was their command or only some errand boy; anyone in the family’s line of work had heard the rumors about Blackwatch, who lived in the shadow cast by Overwatch’s light. It would explain the logo, the exclusive equipment, their interest in the Shimadas. If they were real, this man was deadlier than his posturing might suggest. 

“Then you’re the one I am looking for,” Hanzo said.

The man’s lip curled a little at that, the barest twitch of a smile. “That so?”

Hanzo could feel a plan slowly forming. It would be a gamble too, but a different sort entirely. “You’re investigating the Shimada family,” he said, and he watched the man’s eyes widen. It was all the confirmation he needed. “I was hoping to trade information.” The man was curious at least. Hanzo had his attention. “Are you still the one in charge now, or shall you take me to them?”

The man snorted. “I’m still in charge, and you still ain’t told me who’s givin’ up the intel.”

“Perhaps I’ll feel more forthcoming without the threat of imminent death.” It was a risk and he knew it, but the man only huffed out another little laugh. He stared back hard at Hanzo, the internal debate obvious on his face, and then he holstered the gun. Hanzo wondered if he were really so foolish or if his confidence was well-earned. He let his own hands relax, down by his sides, and closer to the tantō at his back. “I work for the family.”

“Got a name?”

Hanzo could be straightforward, ask for the help outright. But the rumors of Blackwatch had not all suggested they were particularly honorable. They might only take him as hostage, or worse. “You have not given yours,” he said.

The man snorted again. “Fair enough. So what’s this trade?”

“Information.”

“Yeah, you said that already.” He stared at Hanzo, looked like he was trying to picture the face under the mask. “Let’s say it’s good intel. What do you want?”

Hanzo paused. “Safe passage,” he answered. “And immunity. For two.” 

The man’s eyebrows shot up. He tried to cover it with a smirk. “Immunity from what? We ain’t the police.”

“From prosecution,” Hanzo said, voice unexpectedly hushed. “Surely Overwatch has that authority.”

He went still then, staring directly at Hanzo before he laughed. It was a poor act. “Not sure I should trust any intel from someone this delusional.”

The man was on the defensive now, and Hanzo could sense it. He had overstepped by naming them. His mind scrambled for data to tell him how to proceed. He thought about the way earnestness kept creeping through the man’s act. Hanzo widened his eyes at him, looked down as if he was nervous. He wondered if taking the mask off would help, or if the arrogant appearance he’d been given by both nature and nurture would only ruin the performance. 

“I know you’re Overwatch,” he said quietly. Blackwatch, more likely, but that seemed more dangerous to name aloud. “If they know I spoke to you, they’ll kill me.” He glanced up then, eyes wide again, and he could see it working. “I want out, but it’s not as if I can retire. It does not work that way.” The man rubbed a hand over his face, but not before Hanzo saw how it had softened. Soft-hearted under all the posturing, just as he’d hoped for. 

The negotiation did not take long, after that. The man texted with someone, kept one eye on Hanzo the whole time. He made Hanzo the offer: full immunity, legal protection for two, protection from the family’s retaliation, but they wouldn’t simply go free. Blackwatch command wanted them. They wanted, specifically, the one who had snuck past all their guards to end up in this man’s room in the first place.

It was not as if Hanzo had better options. It was, in fact, a far better trade than he had expected. He looked again at this man, handsome as he was, arriving exactly when Hanzo most needed it, and offering a better deal than Hanzo could have anticipated. Relief and nerves and his own imagination, fixated briefly as it was on the absurd fantasy that this might be his very own dashing hero, all combined to make him laugh. It was small, but it caught the man’s attention again.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asked, and the light caught his eyes just so, made Hanzo realize there were little gold flecks in all the brown.

“Nothing, I— How do I let your people know not to take me with the others?” He felt foolish, had to banish the silly fantasy and focus, recall that this man showed up to put him in custody, that the offer he gave wasn’t even fromhim, just some faceless commander he served. The offer wasn’t even thatgood.

It wasn’t freedom. It was only better than his current dilemma. 

“Guess we’ll have to have a code,” the man muttered, and he looked away from Hanzo and ran a finger over the brim of his cowboy hat. One side of his mouth lifted in a smirk, and Hanzo refused to acknowledge that he might have mirrored it behind his mask. “You ever seen a movie called  _Tombstone_?”

 

* * *

 

Blackwatch was both better and worse than expected. Between their new regulations and Hanzo explaining to Genji  _exactly_ what had put them in this predicament in the first place, Genji cleaned up quickly. He grew more likable by far, and Genji both excelled at Blackwatch’s challenges and grew to tolerate its restrictions. Whatever limits the organization placed on their freedoms, their idea of discipline felt lax, even soft, compared to the family. There was room to breathe here, at least in the shared spaces. 

The bedroom was less than ideal. Hanzo was accustomed to sharing living space with a large number of people, but he had always had his own bedroom. There were few places to retreat for time alone. The terms of their agreement remained hazy, but  _good behavior_ seemed to be one of them. Commander Reyes assured him they would see more time off, receive more pay, have greater opportunities for space to themselves, with  _good behavior_. In the meantime, he shared a bunk bed with his brother and a room with eight other men, none of whom were particularly interesting.

It took longer to decide whether Jesse McCree made things better or worse. For the most part, he was more intriguing than most anyone else there, and the only person besides Genji who was both interesting and stubbornly immune to being intimidated into silence. His presence occasionally brought forth the brief, embarrassing reminder of Hanzo’s reaction to their first meeting; it was easy enough to brush off though, to chalk the entire childish thing up to relief and a pretty face.

It was over a game of cards that Hanzo realized McCree might share the interest, at least in some passing way. But he flirted, incessantly, easy as breathing, with half the Blackwatch team. It hardly seemed notable.

During their first training together, Hanzo watched him fire a gun, watched him outscore both Hanzo and Genji, who’d spent their lives around all manner of weapons, whose family had  _traded_ in guns, and he realized two things simultaneously: one, that McCree could indeed have killed him the first time they met, and two, that Hanzo wanted him. McCree did “kill” him in their training simulation, and Hanzo’s blood felt like fire in his veins.

He’d had his fair share of dalliances before — never for long and rarely with the same person, by necessity more than anything else — and he knew what it felt like to want, to be desired in return, to feel the creeping but giddy certainty that it was building toward something. But it had never felt like this. He watched McCree watch him, charmed by his earnest, sometimes clumsy efforts, and he thought it might burn him from the inside out.

He did the only rational thing: he retreated. Those previous flings had been as easy to discard as they were to acquire, but this could certainly be more complicated. It didn’t have to be. McCree didn’t seem like the type to hold a grudge, exactly. Hanzo could sense, though, that he wouldn’t be easy to avoid when it was over, that maybe he himself wouldn’t want to simply discard him, and that was enough cold reality to keep it all at bay. 

Until that party, his first taste of alcohol in weeks, surrounded by good spirits and with McCree, a little drunk too, charming and playful and making his offer plainer than it had ever been. He put a hand on Hanzo’s back, breached the space between them, neither intimidated nor tastelessly forward, and Hanzo clamped down hard on his own reaction. The time and place were all wrong, the alcohol too easy an excuse.  _Not yet_ , he told himself, but he still surrendered to its inevitability.

He had not set the dragons free in months now, but the burn in his body felt similar, and he could identify with them more than ever. Hanzo wanted to eat him alive.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t go in with a plan, exactly, beyond  _take what I want_  and  _leave an impression_. The first was obvious, but the second was less familiar, something halfway between staking a claim and punishing McCree for making him feel like this in the first place. Maybe doing his best to leave McCree feeling the same way would be the most appropriate method.

McCree was easy to find and easier to persuade, and Hanzo started on the buttons of his shirt before they even made it inside, watched the faint tremor in his fingers as he fumbled with the keypad. It was only an accident, byproduct of years of conditioning that any and all knowledge could eventually be useful, that made his mind seize on the numbers, file them away for later. 

He hadn’t planned on this part either, but Hanzo listened to McCree curse and try to take control even as he shuddered against Hanzo’s hand, and he thought again about eating him alive and dropped, smirking, to his knees. It was so easy to wind him up, get him to resort to that resentful bluster Hanzo found so embarrassingly charming. Let McCree posture and use his mouth however he wanted; Hanzo had him right where he wanted him.

It didn’t occur to him until much later that perhaps he hadn’t had to  _make_ McCree feel the same at all. 

 

* * *

 

It was Hanzo’s experience that kissing was a means to an end, a pleasant enough step on the way to a larger goal. Jesse — as he’d insisted Hanzo call him, true to form, with the most absurd possible timing — Jesse kissed like it was an end all on its own. There was a process, a series of symptoms sparked by one of those kisses. It started with the heat in his belly, the sheer physical attraction that got him into this mess, before it bloomed soft and warm in his chest, same as the fondness he felt at Jesse’s more charming quirks. From there, if he lingered too long, it went straight to his head, banished all good sense and made him light-headed, dizzy, prone to the kind of childish romanticization that had made him think of Jesse as his hero, once upon a time.

He usually cut them short before it could get that far. He was not Genji, with a penchant for all things mind-altering. He was more than capable of indulging only in moderation.

He was also more than capable of realizing when he had made a crucial miscalculation. After a lifetime of sycophants or people vying for power over him, it hadn’t occurred to him that it could be a  _game_ , that Jesse might like the game as much as he did. The sex was as good as he’d hoped for, but it didn’t satisfy. If anything, it only made him want more. Jesse had promised him anything he wanted, and he made good on it, listened with an almost overwhelming level of attention and improvised just enough that it wasn’t entirely predictable. Hanzo determined the best way to ensure he continued was to do the same in return, even if it meant putting on the stupid cowboy hat.

Between that and Jesse’s ridiculous kisses, he feared he might have to revisit his conclusion that he was above addiction.

 

* * *

 

It was another miscalculation to assume it was a game at all. 

It still was, in some ways. He still liked to wind Jesse up. Teasing Jesse resulted in a number of amusing outcomes: he might get flustered, he might get obstinate, or he might get turned on. However it started, it always ended on the last of these anyway.

But whatever else they were doing, the bigger picture was increasingly and decidedly  _not_ just for sport.

The realization came to him during what was, in fact, a game, and a particularly stupid one at that. 

He knew he shouldn’t do it. Tension sat in his stomach, nerves like he’d never felt when he thought about Jesse. But Jesse had admitted to this one while drunk, embarrassed by it even with alcohol to loosen him up, and something about those facts suggested it was more potent than some of the others.

Still, it was a bad idea, and Hanzo knew it. He sensed it when he pulled the mask up over his mouth and nose, and again when Jesse opened the door. He turned, silently, and Jesse just stared back at him.

“Oh my God, you didn’t,” Jesse said after a moment. He scrubbed a hand over his face, cheeks reddening more and more by the second. That, at least, settled Hanzo’s nervousness that he’d misstepped somehow. 

“I was under the impression this would be appealing to you,” he said coolly, knowing full well just how  _appealing_ it was, at least according to Jesse’s drunken description and the blush currently creeping all the way down Jesse’s neck. “Although I fail to understand it.” He knew that for a lie the moment it left his mouth, so he changed course. “Do you have an objection to seeing my face?” he teased.

“You know I think you’re gorgeous,” Jesse muttered into his hands, and Hanzo’s resolve grew stronger with the little flood of pleasure at the compliment.

“Am I supposed to remember what I said now?” Hanzo asked. Jesse let out a frustrated laugh, face still in his hands. “Are you going to pull a gun on me again?” 

“ _No_ , Jesus.”

“What was it you wanted to do again? You had some kind of plan.” Hanzo grinned behind the mask, could see Jesse’s shoulders tensing. It would only take a little more pushing.

“It wasn’t— Can I get a second to… process?” Jesse scraped his hands through his hair, sent it in wildly different directions, and Hanzo felt that stupid fondness again.

“Of course. I’ll give you some time alone. To  _process_.” 

He made for the door, and Jesse snatched for his wrist, stopped Hanzo in his tracks with his rough grip. “Don’t you dare.” His voice was a little hoarse, close enough to the growl he was aiming for that it sent a shiver up Hanzo’s spine. He pressed close against Hanzo’s back, yanked Hanzo’s hips against his own. “This what you were after?” he asked, voice low and hot near Hanzo’s ear.

Hanzo arched against him, let out a low, quiet laugh. “Is that what you said then?” He turned his head just enough to glance at Jesse, who looked strangely distracted, gave him a funny little smile.

“No,” Jesse said, gave a self-conscious laugh even as he pressed a hand low against Hanzo’s stomach, seeking out the hem of his shirt. “Was more like” — Jesse pitched his voice lower again, sent a ripple of heat through Hanzo’s whole body — “where the hell d’you think you’re goin’?”

He laughed again, let Jesse manhandle him toward the wall. “Do you usually fantasize about accosting strangers?” he teased, and Jesse huffed behind him.

“It wasn’t  _accostin’_ ,” Jesse grumbled. He sounded at least mildly offended, and embarrassed too. “You were willin’, it was just. I told you it was  _dumb_.” Jesse was doing the thing he sometimes did, where he seemed incapable of removing his hands from Hanzo even as he pouted. It was as flattering as it was disconcerting. Hanzo pressed his hands flat to the wall and his hips back against Jesse, hoping to distract him further. “And it wasn’t a stranger,” he said more quietly, before Hanzo could come up with words of his own. “It was you.” Jesse’s voice hitched oddly on the last word, and it sent an entirely different sort of shiver through Hanzo.

Hanzo wanted to push the issue, but he sensed it might be cruel in some way that went beyond their usual teasing. He didn’t know that he wanted Jesse to elaborate either, what he might do with more information. So he let it go, focused instead on Jesse’s weight pushing him hard against the wall. One of Jesse’s hands slipped up Hanzo’s shirt, pawing at him again, and he ground himself against Hanzo’s ass. “So that was it?” Hanzo asked, turning his head to glance at him. 

“Pretty much. Wasn’t real elaborate,” Jesse mumbled, nuzzling against his hair. Hanzo hadn’t quite been able to recreate the outfit with what he had here, had opted for a mask without the hood. Jesse hadn’t said as much, but he seemed to approve. “You were a lot nicer to me though.” Jesse laughed at that, snaked a hand from Hanzo’s hip down into his pants to close around his cock. “Not such a fuckin’ tease. Maybe you were even grateful.”

Hanzo arched against him again, let his eyes close for a moment. It was closer to the truth, to that foolish memory, than Jesse had any right to get. He let himself get lost for a moment in Jesse’s hands on him, hips moving slow into the curl of Jesse’s loose fist, though it was hardly enough. “You’re one to talk about  _teasing_ ,” he finally said, when there was enough distance between himself and the memory. 

Jesse laughed at that, but he fell appropriately silent when he tugged Hanzo’s black sweats down just to his thighs, when he found Hanzo already prepared. “Did you—?” Jesse started, then let out a shuddery sigh when his finger slipped in easily. Hanzo pushed eagerly back against it, let himself feel smug at Jesse’s reaction. It seemed to take him a moment to fully catch up, because he finally said Hanzo’s name on a low whine, right against the back of his neck. 

“I didn’t do it so you could spend an hour  _playing_ back there,” he said, and Jesse made another low, needy sound, mumbled Hanzo’s name against his shoulder.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he breathed after a moment. It was another brief opportunity to feel smug about the whole thing; this precise moment, the one where Jesse became too distracted to keep up, down to nothing coherent beyond agreement and curse words and Hanzo’s name, made all the silly preparations worth it. 

Jesse barely hesitated, moved quickly and with fumbling fingers behind Hanzo, then he was sliding hot and hard inside him, still a stretch even after all Hanzo’s efforts. A couple of rough, insistent thrusts, and he was in, had Hanzo up on the balls of his feet. Hanzo could feel Jesse’s belt, the bite of his open zipper, against his bare skin. Jesse hardly gave him a chance to adjust before he was rolling his hips again, one hand splayed low and hot against Hanzo’s stomach and the other curling their fingers together beside Hanzo’s head.

Hanzo wasn’t even sure Jesse knew that he did it sometimes. It seemed mindless, a reflex, and every time it made the same warm fondness unfold in Hanzo’s chest. Even now, even like this. Then Jesse pressed in harder, jerked Hanzo’s hips up and back and thrust so hard it made his teeth rattle, and Hanzo didn’t have to think about anything at all.

After, while they were still sweaty, leaned hard against the wall and breathing harshly, Jesse yanked the mask down and kissed him. The angle was awkward, Hanzo’s neck craned to reach him, but it was the same one he always gave, unbearably sweet and an end unto itself. Jesse kissed like he was falling in love, and it seemed like more responsibility than Hanzo could bear.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo had been raised to be in charge of a great many things, but someone else’s heart had never been one of them. He should have anticipated it; he had seen Jesse’s softer side before he even knew his name. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might ever direct it his way.

He could end things. It would probably be better for Jesse’s well-being in the long run. But Hanzo  _was_ fond of him, and very selfish besides.

He liked the room, for all the privacy and quiet it afforded, and because it smelled very faintly like Jesse. He liked the sex, and he was beginning to suspect that it would be difficult to find its equal elsewhere. He even liked having Jesse himself around, absent the sex. He was charming and funny, most often entirely by accident, and sweet at the strangest times. When Hanzo caved to his insistent cuddling, he felt like something cold-blooded using Jesse for the warmth, and Jesse seemed curiously content with that.

It would do Jesse no good for Hanzo to leave him injured and vulnerable to someone else, someone like Hanzo, to come along and do worse. Jesse was much cleverer than he gave himself credit for; he would figure out what was good for him on his own. In the meantime, Hanzo took it as his duty to dole out his affection carefully, in small pieces, because too much at once made Jesse retreat, and to occasionally remind Jesse of exactly who Hanzo was, in case he was prone to forgetfulness.

He didn’t expect it to  _bother_ him so much, for the thoughts and words to linger when Jesse started to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

“He called me  _creepy_ ,” Hanzo said. “And spoiled.”

Genji sighed, barely audible. “You’re in a closet playing with knives,” he said, as if that had anything to do with it. Genji sighed again, this time deliberately loudly. It was entirely unnecessary, a long, drawn out, dramatic thing. Then he sank down next to Hanzo on the floor. “So what is this? Are you angry with him?”

“No.” Hanzo flung the knife across the little utility closet, watched the tip sink into the center of his makeshift target. It wasn’t satisfying or particularly challenging, but it had been something to do with his hands. He didn’t bother to retrieve it this time. “I’m just... thinking about it.”

Genji snorted, but he looked a little apologetic when Hanzo glared at him, at least. “So your boyfriend said things—”

“I don’t think he’s my boyfriend.” Genji laughed outright at that. “What?” Hanzo snapped.

“Are you just friends?” Genji asked.

“No.”

“Is it just sex?”

Hanzo thought, briefly, about his own fondness and his previous certainty about Jesse’s feelings. “No,” he said after a moment.

“Then he isn’t  _not_ your boyfriend,” Genji said with an air of smugness about him.

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “I don’t think that’s entirely how it works.” He wondered, for example, whether Jesse might like the opportunity to be with other people. It was not as if he could do so if he knew Hanzo might be in his room at any time. The back of his neck prickled with a dawning horror: Jesse might have been right to call him  _creepy_.

“Trust me, that is pretty much how it works.” Genji spoke with exactly the kind of confidence that let Hanzo know his brother was full of shit. “ _I_ have actually beenin a relationship before.”

“You were ten,” Hanzo said, cutting a glare at him.

“I was a precocious child.”

“You held hands for a week before she dumped you.”

“I learned a lot in that week,” Genji insisted, and Hanzo had to let it go with a laugh. He nudged Hanzo’s thigh with his knee. “So he thinks you’re creepy and spoiled. Is that new for you?”

Hanzo grunted in response. It was a valid question this time, but he didn’t have to enjoy it. He wasn’t entirelyunaware of the way others might perceive him, even occasionally went out of his way to cultivate it. He would have preferred  _intimidating_ to  _creepy_ and  _capable of getting what he wanted_ to  _spoiled_ , but it was typical of Jesse to downplay those things, reduce them to something he could find more appealing. Yet another reason Jesse was better off with him than with someone who might actively wish him harm. 

Hanzo glanced at Genji, wondering if this would be one of those things his brother would use against him later, one more weapon in his arsenal the next time they had an argument. But Genji looked sincere this time, the way he had when Hanzo had told him about the order and their new arrangement, and so he risked it. “I wasn’t prepared for him to agree with all of  _them_.” Hanzo gestured vaguely in an effort to encompass Blackwatch, Overwatch, the general  _them_ who found his past and his demeanor so off-putting. 

He didn’t usually care at all except to know how to useit to accomplish some goal. He liked being left alone, and he only cared to spend time around those who couldn’t be cowed by it anyway. He had wanted Jesse to know who he was, but now that he  _did_ , it seemed to actively matter, which he had not at all anticipated. That made it all somehow more frustrating.

Whatever Genji saw, it made him look concerned, and that was even worse. “I’m pretty sure he likes you, though.”

Hanzo rolled his eyes. “Of course he does,” he said, although it came out as more of a question than intended. Somehow saying it aloud had made it less certain instead of more. And even if it were certain, it was still a problem. If Jesse liked him in spite of his criticisms, Hanzo was left in his current frustrated state. If he liked him  _because_ of those things, Hanzo remained concerned for his instincts for self-preservation. 

Genji watched him for another moment then stood up abruptly. “Come on. It’s dinner time, and I can’t watch you pout on an empty stomach.” 

It said something about his current state that he didn’t bother to challenge Genji about the pouting.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a mistake. 

He had known it would be before he even sat down. He’d thought about returning later, maybe taking the food somewhere else, but Genji and his own morbid curiosity pushed him to sit with Jesse.

In some ways it helped. It at least satisfied the curiosity. Angela was stimulating to talk to in a way he hadn’t realized he had missed. She was also kind, even went so far as to let Hanzo know she was in no way interested in Jesse. It was unnecessary by the time she did it, but a kindness nonetheless, even if it did leave him briefly embarrassed by his own behavior. He may as well have peed on Jesse’s leg for all the tact he’d shown; worse, it was an entirely unexpected reaction. 

Jesse, though, was nothing but confusing. For a moment, he looked at Hanzo as if he wanted to kiss him, as if they were entirely alone and not in the middle of a busy cafeteria, and Hanzo felt strangely light-headed, the way he did when Jesse actually  _did_ kiss him for too long. But he clearly didn’t want Hanzo to speak to Angela, introduced him curtly by only his name, like Hanzo was nothing special at all, then censured him and deflected his questions. 

Part of it went well. They all found a rhythm for the conversation, and it flowed, light and breezy, and Hanzo almost forgot about it until Angela left, until Genji declared himself in love and Jesse said it was nothing like what he and Hanzo had, until Jesse declared Angela  _too good_ for Genji, or anyone like him.

Hanzo knew, rationally, that it was all aimed at Genji. He knew it wasn’t even  _about_ him, that perhaps he shouldn’t read into it. He knew it, but it wound itself up with his memory of Jesse’s criticisms, of Jesse’s condescension to explain to him how other people here operated, of everything Jesse had done during dinner, and he wondered if Jesse was somehow ashamedof him. 

Hanzo wondered if he had been entirely mistaken about Jesse’s feelings. Perhaps Jesse enjoyed the sex but not his company, and Hanzo had misread the rest. It shouldn’t have bothered him; it should have only taken some minor adjustment to his understanding of the situation. Instead, he was surprised to find that he felt  _injured_ and more than a little bit humiliated, at both the scenario and how long it had taken him to figure it out. It occurred to him that all he had assumed about Jesse’s feelings could have been nothing but projection and wishful thinking. 

 

* * *

 

He gave himself exactly two hours — timed, using his tablet — to stew over it. Any more, and he might have to admit that Genji hadn’t been wrong to call it pouting. He was certainly not  _playing_  with knives, but he did enjoy the meditative lull brought about by the rhythmic  _thunk_ of the blade into the wood target he’d set up.

Genji, thankfully and perhaps wisely, left him alone this time. He probably knew better than to interrupt when he had been the one to push Jesse in the first place. Hanzo still wasn’t sure whether it was meant as a favor to his curiosity or if it was only Genji’s petty revenge against Jesse for telling him what he could and could not do.

With his newfound insight that his previous analysis may have been colored by what he had  _wanted_ the situation to be — namely that Jesse should have feelings for him and that Hanzo should be above such things — he reviewed what he could. 

Jesse communicated most of his affection nonverbally, through long, surprisingly vulnerable looks, the hand-holding, his insistence on cuddling, and of course his alarmingly addictive kisses. He had, on more than one occasion, complimented Hanzo’s skill during training. He had an absurd number of pet names for Hanzo, and he practically showered him with compliments during sex, a fact that had previously been an unending source of nourishment for his ego.

When Hanzo tried to recall similar compliments about his personality, he came up distressingly short.

It seemed that although Jesse had no desire for the power or influence Hanzo had once wielded, it was entirely possible the only other things Jesse noticed about him were the same things anyone else did, and Hanzo had been operating under the delusion that he had  _wanted_ that.

He left the knife in the target and rubbed at his eyes, inexplicably tired as they were so early in the night. It was only when his fingers came away wet that he realized he had deluded himself yet again. Strangely, it was this that threw all the rest into perspective. 

Hanzo was indeed pouting, hiding in an empty utility closet, playing with knives, and now crying over a man he was angry with for believing exactly what Hanzo had worked to make him believe. Except he couldn’t even know  _what_ Jesse believed, because he had never asked, nor had he ever thought to clarify his own feelings, because he had been certain he didn’t have them. He was at least as ridiculous as he’d ever presumed Jesse to be. 

 

* * *

 

Since it appeared that particular types of kisses and prolonged eye contact were unreliable metrics for determining Jesse’s feelings, the only reasonable option was for Hanzo to ask the source himself. 

He managed to hide his stolen knives, clean himself up, and leave the closet with two minutes left on his tablet’s timer. 

Talking to Jesse, however, turned out to be more difficult than expected. He felt like he was exposing weaknesses, which was hardly something he had made a habit. It was frustrating, somehow more confusing at times, but he was determined to see it through, even if it meant his jaw ached for clamping down against the way his throat tried to close up and his eyes started to burn. However humiliating it was, Jesse at least made clear that the situation was far betterthan the one Hanzo had cooked up for himself. It renewed Hanzo’s faith in both Jesse and his own instincts, and he felt reasonably certain Jesse could and should have anything at all that he wanted.

“Like knowin’ it’s there, the shit nobody else gets to see,” Jesse told him, and Hanzo replayed the words in his mind, light-headed with them long after Jesse fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

The first time they had tried this had been, admittedly, not the most appropriate. It had been when he’d tied Jesse up with his belt — the first time he’d tied Jesse up with his belt, anyway — and Jesse had squirmed so much that Hanzo had given up, shoved Jesse’s legs together, and fucked into the press of his thighs.

The second and third times, Jesse had still squirmed. It was almost funny, and so incongruous with Jesse’s general approach to sex that Hanzo took it as a personal challenge. It seemed that, much like Jesse’s assumptions about his own intelligence, Jesse had convinced himself bottoming was something he was bad at and so went on to fulfill that particular prophecy. As with nearly all of Jesse’s odder quirks, Hanzo found it endearing. He also managed to make some headway curing Jesse of the illusion by reducing him to the sort of sobbing mess that absolutely required post-coital cuddling as a matter of responsible care, not simply pleasure.

This time, the challenge appeared to be embarrassment,of all things. 

“You are the most shameless person I have ever met,” Hanzo insisted. Jesse stared at him as if he’d grown a second head, and Hanzo didn’t care to interrogate that particular reaction. “I refuse to believe  _this_ is your bridge too far.”

“I didn’t say no,” Jesse said, jaw setting stubbornly. It appeared he had heard it as a challenge, which boded well for the outcome. “It’s just.” Jesse breathed out hard through his nose. “ _Really_?”

“Really, cowboy.” Hanzo smirked at him and tugged Jesse’s belt to pull him closer. He pitched his voice lower, tried to shape the words the way Jesse might have. “There’re some things a man just can’t run away from.”

Jesse let out a sound that was half laugh, half groan, but he moved willingly enough, until he was pressed right into Hanzo’s space. “You’re lucky I like you,” he said, mouth downturned like he was trying, and failing, to pout about it.

It didn’t matter that it was only playful this time; it was still new enough that the admission still sent a little wave of warmth through him, softer and sweeter than the heat of anticipation. “Very,” Hanzo said, aiming for dry, but it was hard to keep his face serious when Jesse’s answering grin was so blinding. “Now take off your shirt, pilgrim.”

Jesse laughed again, pulled his loose tee up and over his head, sent his hair flying, unruly as ever. When it was off, Jesse leaned in. Hanzo leaned away from the kiss, stopped him short with a hand pressed to his chest and their lips almost brushing. “I think you’re forgetting something,” Hanzo said, grinning.

Jesse froze where he stood, as if he didn’t quite believe that Hanzo had stopped him. Then his jaw squared, stubborn again, and he pulled back, backed away from Hanzo entirely. He plucked the cowboy hat off his desk and put it on firmly, and the look he gave Hanzo was so bitter that Hanzo laughed. “Oh, it’s funny now?” Jesse grumbled. Then his body language shifted, thumbs hooked in his belt loops, and he struck something close to an intimidating pose. “I don’t think it’s nice, you laughin’.”

Hanzo bit down on the rest of the laughter and peeled out of his own shirt to buy himself a moment. His repertoire of lines was sure to be much smaller than Jesse’s, but he managed to come up with another. “You gonna do somethin’, or are you just gonna stand there?” 

“And  _bleed_?” Jesse asked, laughing. That was all it took before he was on Hanzo again, wrestling him toward the bed.

“It was an excellent improvisation before you added that,” Hanzo said, even as he helped Jesse get Hanzo’s pants off.

Jesse snorted and pushed him down onto his back, then reared back to begin pulling at his own belt buckle. “I  _corrected_ it. Shouldn’t’a started if you can’t even keep up. A man’s got to know his limitations.” 

Hanzo could sense he was in far over his head, but he could only smile, wide and bright. “Was that another one?”

Jesse let out a long-suffering sigh that broke on another laugh, then Hanzo shut him up entirely with a kiss. They knocked the hat askew in the process of stripping down, but Jesse took care to keep pressing it back down, in between pawing at Hanzo and kissing him messily, and messier still every time either of them smiled.

It was playful and fun in a way it hadn’t been before. They’d had their games, of course, but none of them had ever felt quite this carefree. It made the warm fondness in Hanzo’s chest grow lighter, into something bright and untouchable to the rest of the world. The feeling lingered even as he worked Jesse open with his fingers, watched Jesse’s brow furrow and the flush rise in his cheeks, watched his mouth move restlessly, from smiling to biting his lip to falling open on a shaky gasp.

The darker part of it remained too, desire that left him impatient, greedy, voracious. Jesse sank, hot and welcoming, onto Hanzo’s cock, skin already gleaming when they’d barely gotten started. He took a moment, and Hanzo obliged by keeping as still as he could. Then Jesse tipped the hat at him and  _winked_ , laughing and already a little breathless, and Hanzo could only rock his hips up, grasp at Jesse’s thighs until Jesse inevitably reached for his hand, fingers tangled bruisingly hard with Hanzo’s.

Jesse was beautiful and ridiculous and  _his_ , and somehow that, at least as much as the sex itself, satisfied both the dark and the light inside him.

 

* * *

 

Hanzo had of course known that the prank was petty and childish even as he was doing it. He had been prepared for the possibility that they might get caught, and for there to be some punishment if so, but his experiences so far had shown him that Blackwatch was not exactly heavy-handed with their discipline. He might lose pay he could not spend anyway, or spend a few days cleaning something especially foul. It wasn’t as if Reyes was going to ask him to cut off a finger.

But it upset Jesse, clearly, and Reyes separated them for what should have been a standard reprimand. That  _did_ make Hanzo nervous, and he regretted it a bit then. Reyes had ways of influencing Jesse that Hanzo didn’t fully understand, and he had never seemed to like Hanzo very much. If he wanted to make it personal, he might very well be able to. 

Jesse made Hanzo happy, and Gabriel Reyes might have the power to take that away.

The thought should have made him contrite, and it did when he was with Jesse, but then he found himself in Reyes’ office at a time when he  _should_ have still been sleeping next to Jesse. He was more than a little resentful about it, and Reyes looked no happier to see him.

“Sit down,” Reyes demanded.

Hanzo was tempted to remain standing, but he had  _wanted_ to sit. It left him with a frustrating dilemma: he could do it and appear to be following Reyes’ order, or he could refuse and remain uncomfortable. In the end, he opted to sit, but he did so slowly and deliberately, attempting to radiate that it had been his idea all along. Hanzo looked at him, waiting.

Reyes only stared back for a moment, until he finally snorted and shook his head, sinking back into his chair. “You know why you’re here?”

“I believe it’s your job to tell me,” Hanzo said.

Reyes was clearly unimpressed by this answer. “Cute,” he answered. “Wanna try that again?”

“You are angry about the prank.”

“That was dumb as hell, but no, not quite. Third try. You get it wrong this time and I’m gonna have to reassess how smart you are.”

Hanzo stared at him for a moment, simultaneously seething and entirely aware Reyes was doing it on purpose. His jaw was beginning to ache from clenching it. “Jesse,” he finally said, and Reyes smirked.

“Well done, kid.” He said it through his teeth, but the condescension still rankled. Reyes was prodding at him intentionally, and it was working, and that was all the more infuriating. 

“There is nothing in your  _rules_ against dating.”

“Is that what you’re calling it?” Reyes asked with a laugh. Hanzo bristled at that, but he refused to look away. “But you’re right. It’s not that either. It’s one thing for you to fuck up on your own. You get in trouble, I do a little paperwork. Pain in the ass, but it’s nothing special. What you’re doing, though, is dragging someone else into your trouble with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know how long it’s been since the last time I had to write up McCree?  _Years_. Then you come along. Now he’s slacking off and getting up to stupid shit again, when he should be working upstairs already. He doesn’t even belong here.”

“He does not belong here, but I do, you mean.”

“No reason to get butthurt about it. You know it’s true. It’s why you picked him, isn’t it?”

Something about the word set him on edge, like there had been something  _malicious_ about it. “‘Picked’ him,” Hanzo repeated slowly.  _Targeted_ , he realized, and he almost laughed.

“Easy target, right? Young, a little more idealistic than a lot of people around here, easy to play for someone like you.” 

Hanzo bristled again, for his own sake and for Jesse’s. “So this is personal, not professional,” he said. 

“You tell me,” Reyes said. He must have sensed that Hanzo’s confusion was genuine, because he rolled his eyes at him. “What are you doing with him, Shimada?”

“Are you this invested in  _all_ your agents?”

“None of my other agents have a baby yakuza trying to put them on a leash.”

Hanzo sneered at that, and Reyes looked smug about it, like he had him all figured out. Something hot and prickly sat in his stomach, made him want to push back more than anything else. “Is that all it is? Your interest in Jesse’s love life seems alarmingly unprofessional,  _Commander_.”

“If you’ve got a formal complaint, you’re welcome to take it upstairs to Morrison.” 

Hanzo opened his mouth, but he had nothing to say to that, and he quickly shut it again. Reyes only watched him, looking smugly satisfied that he’d managed to win this one. Hanzo wondered if he was going to say anything, or if he was waiting for something. There was no ticking clock in the room, but there may as well have been; he could feel each second passing. He clenched his jaw, frustrated, and he bit down on all his questions. The silence had gone on long enough that he refused to be the one to break it. 

Then Reyes barked out a laugh and leaned back in his chair again, still watching Hanzo and perversely amused by whatever he saw. “Stubborn as a fucking mule, aren’t you?” Hanzo didn’t know how to answer  _that_ either. “If you’re just gonna sit there, I’ve got a story for you.” Hanzo barely suppressed an eye roll, and Reyes laughed at him again, at some joke he had with only himself. Hanzo wouldn’t let himself be baited into asking though. “Did McCree ever tell you how he ended up here?”

Reyes seemed to sense it when Hanzo suddenly perked up, because he smirked right at him. Infuriating man. Still, he had managed to pique Hanzo’s interest. “He was in a gang, and you picked him up after a sting operation,” Hanzo glanced at him and sneered again, “when he was barely more than a child.”

Reyes only snorted at that. “He killed three federal agents and one of mine. In a context like that, age doesn’t matter all that much, not to the agents and their families, and not to most judges or juries.” 

Reyes paused for a moment, leaned far back in his seat. “But you’re right. He was a kid. That’s why I offered him the deal.”

“As if he had a choice,” Hanzo said, and Reyes tilted his head, making no move to hide that Hanzo was being weighed and measured.

“Sometimes you don’t get a good option, only the least bad one.” Reyes shrugged, as if he had reconciled with his decision long ago. Then he laughed to himself, relaxed until he was suddenly nothing more than an old man reminiscing. “Didn’t know he was a minor until we dragged him in for interrogation. He looked about the same as he does now, give or take some gym time and a few bad choices with a razor. You know he lied to me about his age three times?” Hanzo assumed Reyes’ sudden shift in demeanor was as purposeful as anything else he’d done; despite this, he caught himself nearly laughing. “What about that was funny to you?”

It wasn’t a challenge this time. Hanzo wasn’t entirely sure what it was. “Why does it matter?” 

Reyes snorted, but he looked directly at Hanzo, held his gaze for a moment. “Humor me.”

Hanzo wanted to refuse him, out of spite more than anything else, but Reyes didn’t seem entirely hostile this time. “It only... seemed like something Jesse would do.”

Whatever Reyes thought of that, he only grunted. “You know when his birthday is?”

Hanzo snorted at that. “Is this a test now?”

“Of course it’s a test, jackass.”

He sighed, made sure it was long and loud enough that Reyes heard it. “Next month.”

“And what’s the month after that?”

Hanzo stared at him, unsure where this was going. More slowly than before, he said, “He will have been with Blackwatch six years. What is the point of this?”

“Just making sure you know how long he’s been working to get right.” Reyes leaned forward, met him with a level gaze. “And how long I’ve been  _invested_ in making sure he does.”

Hanzo could hear the rest of it. There was a threat lingering there, one that said if he were actually doing anything to harm Jesse, he would have a real enemy in Reyes too. “And you believe  _I_ am somehow disrupting his progress.”

“You are. I told you he belongs upstairs already.”

Hanzo snorted. “What if he doesn’t  _want_ to be?” 

“Why? Because he’d rather be here with you?” Reyes sneered at him.

Hanzo bristled again, but he shoved it down and stared back at Reyes. “Maybe. But almost certainly because he’d rather be working for  _you_ than for Morrison.” Hanzo gave in and did roll his eyes then. “Have you tried asking him what he wants? Instead of planning it all out and expecting him to fall in line?” His voice got tight at the end, more than he’d intended, so he clenched his jaw and went quiet again.

By the way his eyebrows shot up, Reyes certainly noticed, but he granted the small mercy of letting it go. “No way to find out if he never finishes high school.” Reyes grunted and settled back in his chair again. “You think he’s resisting that because he’d rather be here?”

It seemed Reyes was genuinely asking him for once, instead of prodding and testing. “No. He doesn’t seem to believe he’s smart enough,” Hanzo said slowly.

“And what do you believe?”

“That an overbearing commander who condescends to him isn’t helping.”

Hanzo probably should not have said it, not with the way Reyes seemed to be working toward... something. A truce, maybe. But Reyes only let out a laugh, seemed as if he was genuinely surprised for once. “You really are  _such_ an asshole.” The insult was not nearly as barbed as it might have been, and Hanzo had no idea how to respond to it. “Alright, kid. Let’s pretend that you somehow only have McCree’s best interests at heart.” Reyes smiled with far too many teeth. “What are you gonna do to prove it?”

 

* * *

 

Reyes wasn’t entirely misguided, but persuading Jesse to pursue his education was as easy as telling him what Hanzo wanted from him, almost as easy as if it were only about sex. He could be smug about accomplishing something Reyes had been working on for years, but he supposed, when he felt like being charitable, that Reyes had no inclination to use Hanzo’s tactics. 

However charming Jesse’s self-deprecating humor could be, it was much more satisfying to see him realize that studying at this level had little to do with how smart he was and much more to do with the work he put in. Hanzo also found that he enjoyed helping; he missed school, or at least he missed having something to think about that existed outside his usual routines, and the system of rewards he devised made it enjoyable for both of them.

A month in, he dragged Jesse away from studying and to the surprise party Angela had concocted for Jesse’s birthday. Jesse was charmingly flustered by it, and when the others were drunk enough that it no longer mattered, Hanzo coaxed him into the old, empty utility closet. If Jesse wondered about how Hanzo knew about this place, he didn’t ask; he was likely too distracted by Hanzo’s mouth to care.

It was a far better use for the closet’s privacy than any of his previous visits.

 

* * *

 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Jesse purred against his neck, stubble scraping gently with the movement of his mouth. “‘M just tryin’ to say thank you again for all the help.”

Hanzo laughed, but the way Jesse’s tongue curled up the side of his neck made the sound catch in his throat. “You did the work,” he insisted, though he supposed his hands holding Jesse’s head close didn’t suggest he was going to argue much. “I should be rewarding you.”

Jesse coaxed him onto his stomach. “Trust me, it’s a reward,” Jesse said, pressing a kiss to Hanzo’s shoulder. “But if you really want, you can keep still and let me take my time for once.” He laughed quietly, mouthing his way up the side of Hanzo’s neck again. “Don’t be so bossy,” Jesse said, then nipped at Hanzo’s ear.

“I’ll do my best,” Hanzo told him, trying his hardest to sound very solemn, which only made Jesse laugh again.

Jesse trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down his spine, hands brushing warm and light over Hanzo’s shoulders, down his back and sides to his hips, over his ass and the backs of his thighs. He knew what was coming next, but it hardly changed his reaction. It was always the same. At the first touch of Jesse’s tongue, Hanzo let out a quiet, high noise, then he shuddered with it, felt like every muscle in his body was slowly losing strength, like he might be melting into the sheets.

He did actually try to make good on his promise to be still, but Jesse went on, and on, and on with it, tongue working wet and insistent until Hanzo worried he might be licking the sensitive skin raw, until Hanzo could no longer contain the way his hips rolled and twitched, cock dragging over the sheets. He let out a low, shaking groan, and Jesse laughed, squeezed and scraped his teeth over the swell of one ass cheek. “I love when you get like this,” Jesse said, then went back to tormenting him with his tongue.

The word rattled inside Hanzo’s head, made the light feeling in his chest expand until it was almost as unbearable as Jesse’s tongue, and he bit down hard on his forearm. He refused, completely and utterly, to be the person who said  _that_ for the first time in the middle of sex. Jesse would adore it, and he would never, ever let Hanzo live it down. 

He scrambled, with the two entire brain cells he felt he had left, to come up with anything at all to distract himself, to distract  _Jesse_ , from what was sure to be the single most foolish thing Jesse had ever inspired him to do. He opened his mouth, and he managed to avoid saying it; what he said instead was, “Please.” It was as embarrassing as he’d expected it to be, but still somehow less humiliating than what he’d narrowly avoided. “ _Please_ , Jesse,” he repeated, strangely giddy with the relief of it. 

He thought he might be losing his mind, but giving Jesse this particular fantasy was at least sufficiently distracting. Jesse picked up the new game without hesitation, dropped his voice lower and told him to  _ask nicer_. But he provided some relief, some movement forward, when he at least used his fingers. He was slow about it still, took his time like he always tried to, but Hanzo discovered quickly that the word “please” could work Jesse up just as much as anything else, and he used that to his advantage. 

He was half afraid Jesse would try to take this slow too, and he did sink in slowly, stretching Hanzo around his cock in a careful, breathless slide. Hanzo gasped and felt himself tremble. It felt stupidly, impossibly good, like it always did, like Jesse  _belonged_ there, and Hanzo laughed again, overwhelmed by his own romantic idiocy at least as much as by the sensation of Jesse’s cock moving slow and hot inside him. But it seemed Hanzo had successfully made Jesse just as impatient, or perhaps Jesse chose to show some mercy, because he did eventually move, in the sort of rapid, relentless pace that drove Hanzo to an entirely different sort of madness.

 

* * *

 

He did say it, eventually, when he was of sound mind and absolutely not in the middle of anything Jesse could later mock him for, although he still wasn’t entirely in control of it. He returned to their room to find Jesse, entirely of his own volition, considering the college replacement courses offered by Overwatch, and the words simply fell out. 

“I love you,” he said, and Jesse didn’t even give him time to panic before he said it in return.

Once spoken aloud, Hanzo found it both impossible and unnecessary to keep quiet on the matter or attempt to delude himself about it ever again.

**Author's Note:**

> [YourAverageJoke](http://youraveragejoke.tumblr.com) drew this [excellent fanart of Hanzo in his Sulking Closet](http://youraveragejoke.tumblr.com/post/175892741806/hanzo-was-indeed-pouting-hiding-in-an-empty).
> 
> And now, for citations! Re: the silly cowboy sex:
> 
> 1\. “There’re some things a man just can’t run away from.” - John Wayne in _Stagecoach_  
>  2\. "Pilgrim" is just a general John Wayne-ism  
> 3\. “I don’t think it’s nice, you laughin’.” - Clint Eastwood in _A Fistful of Dollars_  
>  4\. “You gonna do somethin’, or are you just gonna stand there [and bleed]?" - Kurt Russell in _Tombstone_  
>  5\. “A man’s got to know his limitations.” - Clint Eastwood in _Magnum Force_


End file.
